


Sight Line

by pollitt



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Flirting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 14:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7535731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollitt/pseuds/pollitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sight Line

**Author's Note:**

> This was written after a text conversation I had with Data while I was waiting in line for a show (which is really some of the best opportunities for story bunnies). This story is all hers. 
> 
> And thank you to Maverick for the beta.

Q feels eyes on him. 

It isn't a new feeling exactly. Since he'd become the Quartermaster -- since Bond -- he’s become more aware of his surroundings, has lived with a heightened sense that someone could be watching him no matter where he was. But this was something more, more sure, more immediate. 

He doesn’t feel as though danger were imminent, but he still reaches into his jacket pocket -- casually as you'd like -- and feels the hard, flat side of the iPod that comes equipped with two tranquilizer darts (something of his own invention and not strictly on the books) that he's taken to carrying since his run-in with Blofeld’s men. His nerves calmed, Q looks around the pub, at the sea of same-looking men with their messy flops of hair and dark framed glasses and the women in braids and glasses not unlike his gram and mum had worn in his favorite picture of them. But he doesn’t see anyone staring back at him, no quick turn after a furtively caught glimpse. He’s invisible in the crowd.

"Really now," he says to himself, taking a breath. He shakes his head and removes his hand from his pocket, reaching for his glass of ale.

The lights dim and a spotlight aims at the stage. Tony, the pub’s owner, steps into the light and thanks the crowd for coming. One hundred pairs of eyes look up at him and Q takes the opportunity to take one last look around the room. No one looks out of place. No one looks back at him. 

Applause draws Q’s attention back to the stage as the band takes their places. He’s been a fan of their music since this had been the biggest venue they could get. They pack theaters four times this size now, but they still had a soft spot for Tony’s. And when they play Tony’s, Q makes it a point to see them. 

As the first song starts, Q leans against the table, closes his eyes, and listens. 

A tap on his shoulder pulls him from his thoughts with a start. “Can we share your table?” a woman’s voice asks. He looks and sees two young woman looking at him.

They have messy braids and big glasses and had probably been in primary school when Q was their age -- with his bright shirts and an attempt at a mustache and a bloody amount of hair product. Their magnified eyes look at him imploringly. He wonders if he has one of those faces that says he’s an easy mark.

“Of course.” He smiles. They smile back. And as soon as their drinks are on the table they turn their attention off of him and toward the stage. Q finishes his drink and turns his attention back to the concert as well.

"Can I buy you another?" Q hears someone ask from just to his side. They’re close, closer to his ear than he’d expect and the voice is one he’d know in a crowd ten times   
this size and twice as loud. It’s a voice that makes Q's heart race for reasons that had nothing to do with unease. 

Q turns his head to the side and looks up at Bond, who looks like no one else in the room with his short cropped hair and blue eyes unencumbered by eyewear. Absent is any hint of a suit. Instead Bond had chosen a semi-camouflage of jeans and a gray t-shirt topped by a leather jacket (It’s certainly all bespoke, the cut of each favoring every line and curve). Q sees eyes turning their way, looking at them. At Bond. There’s no threat, but there is definitely hunger. 

And Bond is looking only at him.

“Bond.” Q smiles. Turns toward Bond fully. He can hear his tablemates whispering to one another. “Is the world in peril?”

Bond steps in closer and the crowd fills in the gap. His smile creasing one side of his cheek. “No. At least nothing that we need to be on the clock for.” 

“So what brings you here? I wouldn't have thought you a fan of this band. You strike me as someone whose preference is for opera. Or something more aggressive.”

“I have a number of preferences. Some are aggressive, but I appreciate alternative as well.” Bond takes the glass from Q’s hand. The pitch of the women’s voices behind Q raise. The sound of his heart beating in his ears gets louder. “But it wasn’t the music that brought me here tonight.”

“Assuming you’re not implying that there is something evil afoot. . . If this is your usual approach toward seduction, I’m rather surprised your reputation is what it is.” 

“Is it working?” Bond asks.

“Let’s start with that drink you offered.” Q nods toward the glass in Bond’s hand. “And we’ll see how the night progresses.”

Bond’s smile widens. “Let’s.”

As Bond begins to turn toward the bar, Q asks, “Oh, and Bond? How did you know I’d be here tonight?” 

Q should know that straightforward answers aren’t Bond’s style. Bond pulls a guileless face and answers, “That would be telling.” He leans in, and for a moment Q thinks it’s for a kiss. But Bond bypasses Q’s lips and puts his mouth close to Q’s ear. “You should really start to call me James.” He nuzzles the spot where Q’s jaw and ear meet and then says with a hot, exhaled breath. “Q.”

And then he’s gone. 

Q watches his ass all the way to the bar.


End file.
